


I Wrote This Story About Jon Walker And Patrick Stump And All I Got Was This Stupid Title

by calathea



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 01:49:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calathea/pseuds/calathea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Patrick got his 5o4Plan hat</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wrote This Story About Jon Walker And Patrick Stump And All I Got Was This Stupid Title

**Author's Note:**

> For sparktastic, beta and additional hand-holding by doll. :)

Patrick Stump was not having a good day.

_Really_. Not a good day.

They'd only come back from tour twenty-four hours ago, and he'd had these plans -- _dreams_\-- about doing nothing except sleep for the first week they were back. Except he'd gone to stay with his family and somehow, even after weeks, fucking _months_ on a bus with a bunch of noisy, careless guys, and sharing the occasional motel room with his insomniac best friend (who didn't see anything _wrong_ with turning on all the lights and cutting his toenails at three in the morning), the boring, ordinary sounds of suburban life were enough to wake him up. He crawled out of bed before the clink of spoons being dipped into cereal bowls could drive him insane, and staggered into the shower.

The hot water ran out just as he lathered up his hair.

Shivering and cursing, he finally pattered damply back into his bedroom, and reached into his closet for a pair of pants, only to find his mother had apparently been moved to throw out most of the stuff out that he'd left there, leaving him with nothing but a pair of jeans that he could barely button until he did the laundry he'd brought back from tour. She'd at least left his t-shirt collection alone, and, grumpily, he pulled his favourite Prince t-shirt (too precious to take on tour) over his head and tugged it down over his hips self-consciously.

His run of luck didn't improve as the day went on. When he left to go to his favourite record store in Chicago (which he ended up parking about six blocks away from, his parking karma having apparently gone the same way as all the rest of his karma today) there was a sudden sharp downpour of rain that began as he climbed out of the car and cleared up again just about the time he arrived, swearing, at the door of the store.

Having sneezed and dripped all over the merchandise and been glared at by, well, pretty much every person in the store, he'd finally given up on finding anything new to listen to before he died of pneumonia, and made his way to the Starbucks three doors down.

His first inkling that this was a bad idea came when he was rudely shoved in the doorway by a frowning man in a suit... right into the path of a woman holding a Venti Latte, which cascaded scaldingly down the front of his shirt.

The next few minutes vanished in a cacophony of cursing exclamations (his, about the _burning_ and the _pain_), aggravated apologies (from the woman, who said she was sorry but obviously thought it was Patrick's fault), and laughter (from a group of terrifyingly cool looking kids in the corner, who thought it was hilarious). It was only when one of the baristas intervened that anything like sanity was restored. Patrick, still holding his t-shirt away from his skin and muttering under his breath, barely registered the hands tugging him away from the door until he found himself being guided into a small cluttered room with a STAFF ONLY notice on the door.

"Here," said a pleasant masculine voice, and Patrick looked up in time to catch a small towel as it was flung towards him. "Take your shirt off before you drip latte all over the place."

Patrick blinked uncomprehendingly at the owner of the voice, a taller guy, with messy brown hair and JON on his name tag. "I don't have anything to put on instead," he said, hearing the whine in his voice and grimacing in semi-apology, before shoving the towel up his shirt and mopping some of the sticky warmth from his skin.

The guy grinned back. "I've got a spare. You can borrow it."

Patrick blinked some more. "Uh," he said, uncertainly, but the guy -- and if Patrick was going to take his shirt, he thought, he should start paying the courtesy of using his name, even mentally -- _Jon_ had turned away.

"Are you always this nice to people when they get coffee spilled on them?" Patrick said, fumbling with his t-shirt and wondering whether it would look weird to turn away from the guy's too-direct gaze.

"Only when they're Patrick Stump of Fall Out Boy," said Jon, and Patrick stopped moving, halfway out of his coffee soaked t-shirt, to gaze at him open-mouthed. "I was at your show the other night with some friends," Jon said, seeming amused. He pulled a green t-shirt out of a sports bag and shook it out. "I'm Jon, by the way, though I guess you know that from my name-tag."

"I have to say," Jon continued conversationally, after an awkward pause in which Patrick just stared at him. "When we sat around talking to about how awesome you were until three in the morning afterwards, and asking each other whether we knew anyone who knew anyone who knew where you hang out, I don't think this came up as a possibility. I'd remember if we mentioned jeans that tight, I'm pretty sure."

Patrick felt the colour wash down his face from his hair line, trying to decide what was more unbelievable -- being _recognized_, being recognized by someone who admitted to talking about him until _three in the morning_ or being _hit on_ by a Starbucks barista who barely looked legal.

He hastily tugged his t-shirt over his head, then resettled his hat, stepping forward to take the polo shirt Jon was holding out.

"Oh, hey," Jon said, frowning. His eyes had dropped to Patrick's chest, and he suddenly reached out, touching Patrick's skin lightly above one nipple.

Patrick reared back. "What the hell... ?" he started, knocking Jon's hand away.

Jon met his eyes, startled. "What? I... No. I'm sorry," he said, quickly, "You're red. Burned, maybe."

Patrick looked down, seeing the mottled red of the skin on his chest. "I'm. I have fair skin," he said, and snatched the shirt way from Jon. "It's fine. Thank you for lending me your shirt."

He was still pulling it on when he heard the door open. "Jon, why aren't you...?" a female voice said, and then, "Jesus, Jon, I told you before. Don't bring your boyfriends into the back room."

Patrick struggled desperately with the shirt, which was buttoned up at the collar so tightly that he couldn't fit his head through.

"He's not my boyfriend," he could hear Jon protesting. "He's a customer. Some guy walked into him and another customer dropped a latte down his shirt."

Patrick finally emerged from the shirt. The woman (Marie, Manager, her name tag read) thawed a little when he corroborated Jon's story, but Patrick could see she still wasn't totally convinced. Feeling himself almost purple with embarrassment, and aware that Jon was seconds away from being in real trouble with his boss, he eventually muttered something almost incoherent, and rushed back out into the streets of Chicago.

He was almost home before he realized that he'd left his own t-shirt behind, and nearly got grounded (_grounded!_) when he growled at his mother, who, seeing him arrive home in a Starbucks uniform shirt, had almost burst into spontaneous applause at the thought of her son securing actual paid employment.

Really. Not a good day.

~*~

The third band playing that night at the basement club Pete had dragged them to were by far the best. They were coming to the end of their set now, and while Patrick was maybe not fully behind some of the screaming in the choruses the kids in the audience were pretty into it. There were only a hundred kids or so, but they were bouncing around and howling along with the lyrics.

He huddled a little deeper into his corner. He'd lost Pete in the crowd almost immediately, and Joe and Andy not long after, and had ended up carving out a little space for himself to the side of the bar, half behind a pillar. He couldn't really see the band, but that was nothing new, especially in clubs with floor level stages. Pete liked to get all nostalgic about places like this -- that was why they were here tonight -- but Patrick was grateful that he wasn't still playing the corners of over-crowded basement clubs, the floor sticky with watery beer and condensation.

"Thank you! We are 5o4Plan! Thanks for listening!" the band frontman was saying now, "Woohoo! Yeah!"

The cheering continued, and Patrick clapped and then hummed along with the song the DJ filling in between sets put on until Pete suddenly appeared in front of him with a greeting of "Trick! Dude, why are you hiding back here?". He was trailed by two girls with streaked hair and tiny, tiny clothes, who looked at Patrick without much interest, and two sweaty looking guys, one still holding a guitar, and the other --

"Hey," said Patrick, furious. "That's my shirt, you bastard."

Everyone blinked in surprise. Jon the Starbucks barista, apparently also Jon of 5o4Plan, just grinned lazily. "Patrick Stump," he said, in laconic greeting.

"You're wearing my shirt," said Patrick again, even though he could feel Pete's erratic attention was now firmly fixed on him, and even the disinterested scene girls weren't looking quite as bored.

Jon glanced down at the Prince t-shirt, damp with sweat and clinging to his shoulders. "Undeniable," he said, and grinned unrepentantly. "Want it back?"

He reached over his head and tugged it upwards, showing off a wide stripe of skin at his belly.

"No!" said Patrick, frantically, "No. I mean. Ugh. It's all sweaty, and..."

Jon let the t-shirt drop back down to settle at the waistband of his jeans, and grinned at Patrick some more. "Sure? I don't mind!"

Pete, who had been watching this by-play like a spectator at a tennis game, suddenly shook his head as if to clear it. "What?" he said, confused. "I was going to introduce you, but if you're already at the point of swapping t-shirts..."

"Who's Patrick been swapping t-shirts with?" asked Joe, coming up behind them and smiling at the two girls in a way Patrick knew he thought was smooth, but that Patrick privately thought made him look like more of a dork than usual.

"Jon, apparently," said Pete, darkly.

"Yeah?" said Joe, "I liked that last song, dude," he added, turning to the guy holding the guitar, who was looking at Jon in surprise.

The guy, who Patrick vaguely thought might be the singer in Jon-the-t-shirt-thief's band, said "Thanks, man," distractedly, then turned to look at Jon. "You got that shirt from _Patrick Stump_?" he said, sounding impressed.

"Patrick, you dog," said Andy, slyly. "Swapping shirts before you even introduce him to us."

"No!" said Patrick, bunching his hands into fists. "I..."

Jon sighed loudly. "You'll see he's not wearing the one I gave him," he said, dolefully, though his lips still curled up at the corners.

"It was a _Starbucks uniform shirt_," said Patrick, exasperated. "But that's not the point."

By now everyone was looking at him, the girls were giggling, and Pete's eyebrows had almost merged with his hairline. "Huh," he said. "I can't believe you didn't tell me any of this."

"It wasn't. There wasn't anything to tell you! It's was nothing!" Patrick exclaimed, and everyone's gazes swung back to Jon, who attempted to look mournful.

"Dude," said Pete, laying a hand on his arm and dropping his voice. "Seriously. That's not a cool thing to say in front of a guy who's wearing your favourite shirt."

Patrick tried to decide who he wanted to hit more, settled for elbowing Joe (who was closest if marginally less deserving than anyone else there) hard in the gut, and stomped away, not even pausing to give Pete the finger when he called "Patrick? You came in my car!" after him.

~*~

Patrick stewed for two days over his hatred of everyone in his band, and everyone in 5o4Plan, and everyone, ever, who worked in the Starbucks three doors down from his favourite record store in Chicago, which he couldn't now go into in case he ran into... anyone.

He was just about getting over his _general_ hatred of the rest of Fall Out Boy when they met in the converted warehouse their label had rented for them to practice in before they went on tour again, just in time for him to remember why he _specifically_ hated each of them, starting with Pete for dragging a whole _entourage_ of people along with him to practice.

"But Pete," and even he could hear the whine in his voice, "Who are all these people? I thought we were going to practice."

Pete waved a hand at the little clump of people waiting by the door, gesturing for them to come further into the room. "We are. It's no big deal."

Patrick slapped Pete's hand down. "Pete," he said, dropping his voice low, "You said you wouldn't keep doing this."

Pete turned to look at him, stepping in close when Patrick scowled. "It's no big deal," he said again, placatingly, "Chill, Patrick."

Patrick looked at him for a long moment, then stepped away. "Okay," he said, turning away to pick up his guitar, "Okay, whatever, but if they laugh, or talk or _sneeze_ or anything..."

Pete shrugged. "Keep the noise down while we're playing," he called, and Patrick frowned while the kids -- two girls and a guy who seemed vaguely familiar -- sat down on the floor near the back of the room. He turned away again, and was flexing his fingers, playing a few chords quietly to himself when he heard the door click and someone else shuffle quietly into the room. Patrick pulled his hat further down over his eyes and tried not to listen to the quiet greetings exchanged between Pete's friends.

"Can we fucking play?" he said, plaintively, and struck a few chords, tilting his neck back so he could see Andy seated at his drum set. Andy rolled his eyes, but nodded, and a few moments later they were playing, and okay, Joe was slightly out of tune and Pete had apparently managed to forget his part in the _week_ since they last played this song, but it was still _music_. The irritations of the week, and the room with the kids at the back melted away, just for a while, even though Pete and Joe were obviously showing off for the audience.

They played for almost an hour, stopping to argue every so often, until Patrick was hot and sweaty and the band of his hat felt like it might swim off his head. "Trick, you're sounding rough," Pete said loudly, as they twanged, miserably out of time again, into a mess. "Let's take a break. Get a drink."

Patrick pulled his hat off, wiped his forehead, glared at Pete and jammed his hat back on in one rapid movement, but Pete just looked back at him blandly and put down his bass. "Fine, whatever," Patrick said, and reached obediently for the bottle of water Pete handed him.

There was practically a hurricane as Joe and Andy sped past him to talk to the two girls, and soon the room echoed with giggles and flirtation. Patrick scowled down at his guitar.

"I don't think the guitar's to blame," a horribly familiar voice said, and Patrick looked up, still frowning, to find Jon of 5o4Plan leaning against the wall nearby.

"Oh my _god_," Patrick said, "Are you _stalking_ me?"

Jon laughed. "Yeah, pretty much," he agreed, placidly, and Patrick boggled at him for his easy admission of guilt. "Pete invited Tom, I just sort of tagged along. I couldn't resist."

"Hmph, whatever," said Patrick, cursing the fact that he was almost certainly starting to blush.

There was a long silence, and Patrick fidgeted with the label of his water bottle.

"I brought your shirt back," Jon said, putting his hand on the messenger bag he was carrying but not making any move to pull the shirt out. "If you still want it back."

"Why wouldn't I, what have you done with it?" Patrick asked, suspiciously. Sharing a small enclosed space with three other guys tended to make you a little paranoid.

"Nothing!" Jon said, and his smile was warm and genuine. "I washed it. Well, my mom washed it, I guess. Twice, even, once because of the coffee and once because I wore it."

"I still can't believe you wore my shirt," Patrick said.

Jon shrugged. "I didn't think I was going to see you ever again," he said, and grinned. "It's a cool shirt, man, no point in it going to waste."

Patrick snorted, and strummed his guitar.

Jon watched him. After a few moments of Patrick picking out notes softly, Jon said, "Is there anything you don't do?"

Patrick looked up, surprised, and Jon shrugged. "You sing, you play guitar, you obviously play drums from the way you were talking to Andy earlier. You write music. You write lyrics."

"I, uh, play trombone too," Patrick said, and winced at how dumb that sounded.

Jon laughed, and Patrick looked up at him sharply. "No, that's cool," Jon said, smiling. "Multi-talented, you know. It's awesome."

Pete, who had apparently been standing nearby during this conversation, came over and slung an arm round Patrick. "Dude," he said to Jon, "Patrick is the _definition_ of awesome."

Patrick laughed, embarrassed, and ducked his head. Pete leaned into Patrick's side and turned his head as if he was going to kiss Patrick's cheek, letting his lips brush Patrick's ear when he whispered, "This kid is so into you."

Patrick jumped away, feeling a tidal wave of red roll over his face and throat. "Pete, get off me," he said, semi-hysterically, and shoved Pete hard.

"Ow!" Pete said, laughing, and danced out the way when Patrick went to shove him again. The inane girls giggled at their antics, and Patrick pulled his hat down again and tried to will his blush away. When he risked a glance upwards, Jon was looking at him curiously, and Patrick hastily looked back down at his guitar.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Andy, who had seated himself back at his drums, suddenly started playing, and he noticed Joe was already back up at the front making small adjustments to the tuning of his guitar. He closed his mouth again and tried to smile, and then Pete was back, dragging him bodily up to the area the band were playing in and yelling behind him: "Sit down, you guys, and keep quiet."

Patrick allowed himself to be swept along, and moments later they swung into song again, and he didn't have time to think about Jon until he heard the door click softly in one of their frequent breaks to argue, and, looking up, saw there were only three people left in their audience. Jon wasn't one of them. He tried to quash his (ridiculous) feelings of disappointment, and carried on doggedly arguing with Pete that it wasn't enough to play the right notes, he needed to play them in the right _order_.

It wasn't until he was driving home that he realized that Jon _still_ hadn't given back his shirt.

~*~

Patrick saw Jon another three times that week -- another time at practice, once in the Starbucks they had first met at (Jon insisted on giving him his coffee for free and as there was a huge line behind him, Patrick couldn't argue without making an ass of himself in front of a dozen people), and on the last occasion, in the basement of Pete's house.

"You're seriously still stalking me," Patrick said, vaguely unnerved, when Jon came to sit by him on the saggy old couch the Wentz family kept in their basement. Since the couch was already occupied by Joe and Andy on his other side, Jon was squeezed up much closer to Patrick than Patrick was really comfortable with right now.

Jon nodded. "Except now I also have a proposal," he said, grinning.

"A proposal?" Patrick echoed, looking at him warily. "What kind of proposal?"

"Jon's proposing?" Joe said, breaking off his concentration in his video game at the least opportune of all moments. "Pete! Dude! You're missing something important!" he yelled suddenly, making Patrick jump and swear at him.

"What?" Pete called down the stairs. "I'm on the phone, what do you want?"

"You need to get down here!" Joe shouted back, despite Patrick immediate attempt to silence him, possibly permanently. Andy started to complain as Joe's flailing attempts to evade Patrick's wrath threatened to bruise him. Jon was helpless with laughter at the other end of the couch.

"What? Hang on a second," Pete appeared on the stairs down to the basement, holding his phone against his chest. "I can't get a signal down here, what's going on? Trick, dude, stop trying to kill Joe for a second so he can tell me what he wants."

Joe escaped from Patrick's muffling hands. "Jon Walker is proposing to Patrick," he called out, "I thought you'd want to see this."

Pete blinked. "I'll call you back," he said into his phone, and snapped it shut without waiting for an answer. "Wow, Jon, that seems kind of sudden. No, wait. I think that should be Patrick's line."

Patrick gave up on killing Joe and curled over his knees, his hands over his face, while Pete started to laugh and Jon lay back against the sofa, still giggling. "I hate you _all_," he groaned. "Why am I even friends with any of you?"

Andy raised his voice above the general mirth. "Hey, I didn't say anything," he said, "Don't include me in this."

Patrick sat up, uncovering his flushed skin. "Yes, and I want to thank you for that, Andy," he said, with as much dignity as he could muster, ignoring Joe, Pete and Jon.

"You're welcome," said Andy, turning back to the video game and unfreezing it. "I don't approve of marriage as an institution, of course, but I'd make an exception for your wedding," he added glancing over briefly at Patrick, his eyes thoughtfully squinted, "With your colouring you should probably wear cream rather than white."

Joe howled with laughter again, and Patrick took advantage of his proximity to elbow him hard in the stomach as he stood up. Joe _oof_ed, but carried on laughing. "Funny," Patrick said, and Pete dropped into his vacated seat, laughing too hard, apparently, to stay upright. Patrick scowled at them all, and stamped off up the stairs, pursued by the sound of their helpless laughter and Pete's shout of "Patrick! Dude! Don't be all like that!"

He was also pursued by Jon, although he wasn't aware of it until he was standing, swearing and hunting through his pockets for his keys, on the Wentz front lawn.

"Dude," Jon said, his voice still edged with laughter, "Sorry about that."

Patrick growled something under his breath and refused to look at Jon. He finally located his keys and pulled them out of his pocket with so much force that they flew out of his hand.

Jon picked them up. "I really do want to talk to you," he said, holding out the keys to Patrick. "I need your help with something."

"What?" said Patrick, angrily, reaching out to take his keys. "No."

Jon snatched the keys back. "At least find out what it is," he said. "Please."

Patrick folded his arms over his chest. "All right, fine," he said, slightly mollified by the 'please'. "What do you want?"

Jon looked at him seriously. "We have a song," he said, "Tom and me, that is. We kind of wondered if you'd come in and work on it with us, help out with the vocals."

Patrick, who had been prepared for another joke, looked at him warily. "You want help with a song? For real?" he said, pushing his hat back so he could make eye contact with Jon.

"Yeah, for real," Jon said. He looked sincere, smiling openly, his brown eyes warm. "We just want, you know, advice, and I thought you might -- that it might be fun. It looks kind of stressful, you know, what you guys are doing right now, and I thought this would be something different for you. And seriously, dude, it would be such a huge favour to us, it would be just _every_ kind of awesome."

Patrick uncrossed his arms. He was... flattered, he decided. "Huh," he said, and Jon looked at him hopefully. "Yeah, okay, for a couple of hours, why not. When?"

Jon held out Patrick's keys slowly. "Tomorrow?" he said, "Or, no, I have class and stuff. Saturday?"

Patrick nodded. "Come to our practice again," he said, "We'll do it after. Sunday we have a thing for a week, so I'm leaving. So we'll have to pick it up when I get back. I mean, if you need more than the one session, or even like, whatever, more than just a listen."

Jon grinned at him again, huge and happy, and Patrick, despite his lingering aggravation, smiled back, and accepted his keys.

He'd reached his car before he remembered. Turning back he called, "Bring my damn shirt back, Jon Walker."

Jon waved and Patrick saw the flash of his teeth.

~*~

Patrick had more or less made up with the rest of the band by Saturday. Joe, of course, had forgotten it had ever happened; Andy ignored Patrick's frown and asked his opinion about a new track he'd heard, and by the time they'd deconstructed the song, Patrick had pretty much forgotten about it. Pete phoned him and apologized, and left his retinue at home for their practice on Saturday. This would have made Patrick happier if only it hadn't meant that Jon, sitting quietly on the floor at the back of the room, was conspicuous for being the only non-band member present.

"Jon Walker," Pete said, surprised, when he walked in the door with a box of donuts. "Did I forget to tell you not to come?"

Jon smiled at him and swiped at some dust on his flip-flops. "My invitation wasn't from you," he said.

Pete's eyebrows flew upwards. "Patrick asked you?" was all he said, but in a tone of voice that made Patrick consider the merits of the floor opening up beneath him so he (or maybe Pete) could fall in. "Well, _I_ can't uninvite you if Trick invited you."

Jon smiled at Pete and declined a donut. Pete turned away and moved towards the rest of the band, wriggling his eyebrows at Patrick as he passed. "So into you," he murmured, and Patrick took a donut and glared at him. Pete just grinned back, winked obnoxiously, and moved past him to give Joe a donut. Patrick glared at his back and bit into his donut petulantly.

Two hours of relatively solid practice later (Joe broke a string part way through a song and carried on playing "because it's more authentic this way, man"; Andy suddenly improvised something awesome that they all had to stop and listen to; Patrick only had three arguments with Pete) and Patrick was pleasantly exhausted. Jon had been so quiet at the back of the room that Patrick had almost forgotten he was there until Pete set down his bass and called over to him.

"How are we sounding?" he asked, flashing his teeth.

Jon uncurled himself from the floor. "Oh, you guys are awesome," he said, unexpectedly fervent.

Joe laughed. "He can come more often, Patrick," he said, packing away his guitar. "I like this guy."

Patrick mumbled something, and Jon beamed. "I'm only here today so Patrick can help with one of our songs," he said.

"Is that what you kids are calling it these days?" Joe said, and Patrick thought about throwing something at him, but all he had was the guitar he was still holding. Pete threw his arm around Patrick in half a huh before moving away to put his bass in its case.

Minutes later, the door closed behind Pete's even-more-obnoxious than usual grin and parting comment of: "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"What wouldn't he do?" Jon asked when the door clicked shut behind the rest of the Fall Out Boy and their voices had faded away.

"I've never dared to ask and find out," Patrick said.

Jon pulled a CD out of his bag and walked over to the CD player in the corner. He set down the guitar he'd brought on the floor and grabbed a couple of chairs, pulling them close together. Patrick sat down in one of them.

"What wouldn't _you_ do?" Jon said, with a sideways grin, and pressed play before Patrick could do more than start to blush. "It's rough," Jon continued after a moment, and there was a hissing noise as the CD spun and the track began to play.

Patrick listened intently, leaning forward in his seat, frowning a little. "Again, please," he said when the track finished, and Jon fumbled with the CD player and started it again. While it played, Patrick hummed along absently.

"Hmm," he said, thoughtfully, as the track came to an end for the second time. "Maybe, okay, let me just get my acoustic, I brought it along."

Patrick stood up and went to grab his guitar, plucking out a few chord. "So, okay, in the middle bit..." he said, and hummed again.

An hour later, they were arguing. "No, I don't like it," Jon was saying, a frown wrinkling his brow a little.

"No, because. Okay. Here," Patrick said, playing the main part of the song again, "And then, okay, you come in, and I sing like," he broke off to sing wordlessly for a moment, "and yeah, no, that doesn't sound right, and to me it's definitely your part that doesn't work."

He looked up to see how Jon had taken this criticism, and found Jon grinning at him, leaning over his own guitar. "What?" he said, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden.

"Are you and Pete a couple?" Jon asked.

Patrick blinked at him. "A couple of what?" he said.

Jon's grin, impossibly, seemed to grow wider. "A couple, Patrick," he said, gently. "Dating?"

"What? No! No. What... why would you ask that?" Patrick exclaimed, flustered.

Jon looked thoughtful. "He touches you a lot for a guy who isn't dating you," he said, "You can see how it would get confusing for me."

"I. Uh." Patrick said, and ground to a halt. He thought about Pete for a minute, whispering in Patrick's ear, leaning into Patrick's space when they played, pressing his lips to Patrick's cheek and neck on stage and off. "He just. That's just Pete."

"Just Pete," Jon said, "Huh."

He beamed at Patrick, and strummed his guitar. "Okay, so you don't like this bit? Because I kind of do like it." His fingers slipped over the strings as he played.

Patrick just stared at him.

"Um?" said Jon, after a long moment of silence stretched between them. "What's wrong?"

"Er," said Patrick, wide-eyed. "Dude. Are you like, into me, or something? I mean, because Pete. And stalking. And. Um."

Jon blinked and burst out laughing. "You actually have to ask me that?" he said, sounding delighted. "Oh, man."

"What?" said Patrick, and stood up hastily when Jon suddenly jumped to his feet.

Jon set his guitar down gently on the floor and leaned across to take Patrick's from him. "You're a smart guy, Patrick Stump," he told Patrick, and closing the small gap between them."But you're also the most oblivious guy _ever_."

Patrick frowned at him. "I'm not!" he protested.

Jon raised his eyebrows and took a step forward, giving Patrick a bare second to suck in a quick breath before leaning forward to touch his lips to Patrick's, just a brush of skin on skin. It shouldn't have been enough to raise the hairs on the back of Patrick's neck, but it was.

Jon stepped back. "I wanted to do that when I met you in Starbucks," he said.

"Or, okay," said Patrick after a moment, rather feebly. "Maybe I am, then." He frowned.

He wasn't quite sure who moved first, but when their lips met the second time, it was more than a touch. Patrick felt the need to prove something -- maybe he caught on late (_when someone else pointed it out_, his mind whispered) but once he did, he was good, he was _there_. He touched his tongue to Jon's lips, and Jon's lips parted sweetly, welcoming. Jon's hands slipping around Patrick's waist to press warmly at his lower back. Patrick lost himself in the dizzying rush of darkness behind his eyelids.

He didn't know how long they had been kissing when Patrick pressed forward, trying to close a distance between them that wasn't there, frustrated in his desire to be nearer. Jon half-stumbled back, reaching out a hand to steady himself and knocking against Andy's spare drum kit. There was a huge crash as a cymbal on a stand fell to the floor, and they jumped apart, and stood staring, wide-eyed and startled, at one another while the sound of the cymbal vibrated into nothing.

"Oh god," Patrick said, moving away from Jon and bending down to pick up the fallen cymbal. "Okay."

Jon touched his fingers to his lips. "Didn't you..." he said, "We should maybe not..."

"I have to pack," Patrick said, breaking in hurriedly to stop any more negatives spilling from Jon's lips. "And my mom is out for tonight, and she said she was leaving, I don't know, like, meatloaf and cheesecake for me. Sometimes Pete comes over, so she won't be... You know, you could come over. We can eat cheesecake and work on your song at my house, if you like."

Jon smiled at him, and tapped his bottom lip. "Yeah?" he said, "I mean, yeah, I can do that. Because, you know. Cheesecake. And the song."

He winked, and Patrick started to blush.

"God, that's hot," Jon said, sounding unexpectedly fervent again, and Patrick blushed harder and knocked the cymbal over again.

~*~

It was still early when they arrived at the meeting point for the bus in Jon's car. Patrick looked at himself in the mirror built into the passenger-side visor. Not the smartest thing ever, he thought, a sleepless night before six days on the bus. He felt fine though, fuelled by hours of song-writing, more sugar and caffeine than any human being should consume in a twelve-hour period, and the feel of Jon Walker's hands and lips on his skin.

"So, a week?" Jon said, after a long silence, peering out at the bus over the steering wheel. Joe and Andy were just climbing aboard.

"Yeah," said Patrick, and got out of the car. They walked over to the bus and stood outside silently for a minute.

"Oh, hey," Jon said, and pulled a soft bundle out of his bag. Patrick automatically held out his hands to take it: it was his Prince t-shirt.

"All washed and clean," Jon said, and Patrick looked at the cloth in his hands and thought about it for a long moment.

"Do you..." he started, "I mean. Would you... That is, I..."

Jon's smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, and Patrick blurted out hastily: "Why don't you keep it?"

The grin widened. "Your favourite t-shirt?" Jon said, sounding amused, but his hands came up to take the t-shirt back. "That's kind of romantic, Patrick Stump."

Patrick went to snatch the t-shirt back, but Jon dodged out of the way, almost backing into Pete, who had just come around the side of the bus to the door. "Watch out, Walker," Pete said, laughing, before climbing onto the first step onto the bus.

"I kissed a guy in Fall Out Boy and all I got was this awesome t-shirt," Jon told him, dancing away from Patrick again and flapping the t-shirt gleefully at Pete.

Pete rolled his eyes. "Dude, I am having deja vu here," he complained at Jon from the door of the bus. "Do not make Patrick mad at me. I am stuck on a bus with him for the next six days and Patrick with a grudge against you is not something you want in a confined space."

Jon laughed, and swiftly pulled the t-shirt on over the clothes he was already wearing. "No, see," he said, "He really did give it to me this time."

Pete's eyebrows soared into his hairline. "Oh _really_," he said, and he grinned at Patrick, who once again contemplated the pleasure it would bring him if a hairline fracture opened in the earth's crust and swallowed Pete whole.

"Yeah, really," said Jon, smoothing his shirt down. "When you're done with him this week, I'm going to steal him to record a song with us, and also, kiss him some more."

Pete laughed, then sobered hastily when Patrick frowned at him. "Dude, what did I say about not making Patrick mad at me?" he said to Jon, and disappeared abruptly into the bus.

"Are you mad at Pete?" Jon said, grinning, and Patrick turned the frown on him.

"No. Well, no more than usual," Patrick admitted.

Jon looked nervous suddenly. "Er," he started, and smoothed the t-shirt down again. "Are you mad at me for telling him? I mean, about us?"

Patrick sighed. "Well, I wouldn't have chosen to tell Pete two minutes before I have to get on a bus with him before a long drive, during which time he'll, you know, get bored, decide to interrogate me, insist on checking my neck for hickeys, lecture me about safe sex and call eighteen people to tell them that we've hooked up. So no, not mad exactly, but not." He waved a hand.

"Oh," said Jon, looking crestfallen.

"No," Patrick said hastily, "Not that. I mean. I'm glad. I just, you know. Embarrassed," he said, turtling his head into his hoodie.

Jon brightened up. "Oh well, since you are already," he said, and reached out to grab Patrick, pulling him into his body. Jon's fingers were in his hair, and Patrick felt the cold morning air on the crown of his head for a second as his hat fell off before he was distracted by Jon's lips on his. The kiss was hot and bitter with the taste of coffee, rough with the same urgency that made Jon's hands clench in his hoodie, made Patrick bite down on Jon's lower lip.

Patrick broke away first. "Okay," he said, trying to collect himself. "All right."

Jon blinked at him, his tongue skating over his lower lip. "Hat?" he said, and pulled a camouflage hat with 5o4Plan on the front out of his messenger bag. "A gift."

He settled it neatly on Patrick's head.

"Okay," said Patrick again, and smiled before he turned away.

"Dude, it's too early in the day for me to have to see that kind of thing," said Joe, wide-eyed, when Patrick got on the bus.

Andy and Pete were gazing at Patrick as well, Pete with his 'always use condoms' lecture face on (which, seriously, Patrick really didn't need to hear again). Andy just seemed vaguely amused. "New hat?" he asked.

Patrick tugged self-consciously at it. "I kissed a guy from 5o4Plan and all I got was this stupid hat," he said with a grin, and leaned over to wave at Jon out of the window.


End file.
